


Every Time I Look at You

by Ivegotaheadlineforyou



Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: Angst, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Eurydice doesn't die because I don't like ~sadness~, Eurydice gets drunk, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Meeting, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Not Canon Compliant, Smut, Which is kinda fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 20:33:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18763699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivegotaheadlineforyou/pseuds/Ivegotaheadlineforyou
Summary: “You ever been in love?” she asked, not meeting his eyes.Not yet, he thought. But with you? I think I could be. Absolutely.***The tale of Orpheus & Eurydice, from the very start, to the bitter end.





	Every Time I Look at You

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the song Mine by Taylor Swift.
> 
> Hadestown belongs to Anaïs Mitchell, god bless her soul.

_I was a flight risk, with a fear of fallin'_

_Wondering why we bother with love, if it never lasts_

 

“Poet!” 

Orpehus looked up from behind the bar, pulling his attention away from the glass he was cleaning. He saw Persephone on the other side of the room, on her tip-toes, waving to him. He smiled at her, always delighted to see their Lady. He waved back to her, beaconing her to come over to where he tended the bar. She smiled impossibly wider, and began to make her way over, dragging someone behind her. She was shorter than Persephone by almost a head, and he couldn’t get a good look at her at first.

“Poet!” She laughed again, when she reached the bar. She had traded her trademarked green dress in for a floaty blue number, a crown of white flowers sitting atop her head. “Can you get me something sweet to drink? And something stiff for my new friend here?” She giggled and squeezed the young girl's arm.

It was then that Orpheus locked eyes with the girl Persephone was dragging along. She looked a little rough around the edges, her hair windblown, her cheeks a little red. She stood next to Persephone looking uncomfortable, hands deep in her pockets, looking around as if she was lost. When she looked up, their eyes met. Her eyes were sharp and clear, and Orpheus lost his breath for a minute. He felt the ground shift beneath his feet.

She was so beautiful.

Persephone grinned at Orpheus’ dumbstruck face. “Poet?” She said, trying to call him back to reality. He blinked rapidly, realising that he was staring, and with a laugh and a shake of his head, he grabbed two glasses, a bottle of brown liquor, and a bottle of magnolia wine — the Lady’s favourite.

As he poured a glass for Persephone, he looked up at the young girl. “Is whiskey alright? Or would you prefer wine, or something else?” He was trying desperately to not ramble.

“Whiskey sounds great, actually,” she said with a smile that just touched her eyes. For a second they lit up in his direction and, gods he could write sonnets, epic ballads about her eyes. 

After he had poured the drinks, he passed them to the girls on the other side of the bar. Persephone took hers, as did the other girl. “Orpheus, are you not going to toast with us?” Persephone said, a look of mock horror on her face. He rolled his eyes and smiled, pouring himself a shot. She smiled bright, squeezing the girls arm again, before raising her glass. 

“To our patroness, Persephone,” Orpheus said, holding his drink up. The two women followed suit. “To another beautiful summer that you’ve graced us with. To all of the possibilities that the warm weather brings. To old haunts, and new friends,” he said this, looking at the young girl. “To the world we’re dreamin’ about. And the one we live in now.”

He clinked his glass against the other’s, before downing his shot. Persephone took a huge sip of her wine before leaning in to kiss his cheek with a loud smack. “Keep our new friend company, I’m off to do the rounds!” She kissed the girls hair, and by the magic of the lady, a single red carnation appeared behind her ear. Orpheus tried to hold in a laugh, and by the time she realised what Persephone had done, she was gone.

“So...Orpheus? Is that what she called you?” The young girl said, turning her attention to Orpheus, taking the flower out of her hair. Her voice was just as full and beautiful as he hoped it be. It was melodic. He smiled and blushed a little, why he really didn’t know, grabbing a rag and wiping down the already clean bar.

“That’s me. And Persephone never introduced you,” he said, trailing off a little at the end, sneaking another peek at her. She smiled at him and took a seat at the bar, before sipping her drink.

“Eurydice.”

_Eurydice._ “That’s beautiful,” he said earnestly. Orpheus was an open book — he wore his heart on his sleeve, and it was clear to anyone within a fifty foot radius that he was absolutely smitten with her.

She looked at a loss for words. “Oh… um, thank you,” She mumbled, taking another sip. “So,” she tried to change the subject. “How long have you known the Lady?”

He leaned his elbows on the bar, trying to get even just a tiny bit closer to her. “I’ve known the Lady for… well, forever really. Can’t remember a time when she hasn’t been around. But I’ve only been tending her bar for a few years. Just during the summers, at least. Doesn’t pay all that well, but hey,” he shrugged. “Gets you through the winter.”

She listened intently, playing with the flower. “I met her for the first time today, but I’d heard stories about her. I mean, hadn’t we all?”

“Her reputation proceeds her, yes,” Orpheus said with a laugh, topping up Eurydice’s glass. “And her summers are legendary. Too bad summer is only 6 months. She’s never up top long enough.”

Eurydice nodded. “I’m praying that this winter isn’t as chaotic. I remember a time when winters were gentler. Easier to make it through.” Her eyes seemed far away now, remembering something. _No_ , Orpheus wanted to say, wanted to reach across the bar and take her hands in his, _don’t think about that now. Don’t be sad_. Instead, he fiddled with the bar rag.

“It won’t be this way forever. She’s too in love with her husband to let their fighting last forever.” Eurydice scoffed at that.

“I don’t know about you,” she said, taking another sip, “but I’ve never known love to last. It might never get better. It might only get worse.”

Her words landed like a punch in the gut, and he did his best to shake them off. Before he could say anything, she continued.

“Love is always beautiful at first, but it ends. People don’t turn out the way you want — the way you need. People love, and then they leave. People disappoint you. Flowers rot. It’s like clockwork.”

“You deserve better than that,” Orpheus said without thinking. She sat up a little straighter. The jukebox started playing in the background. “Love — cosmic, eternal love — exists. And it’s always worth while. And you deserve someone who is willing to go through hell to prove themselves worthy of your love.”

She looked down at her glass, watched the way the brown liquor coated the ice cube. “You ever been in love?” she asked, not meeting his eyes.

Persephone showed up then, grabbing Eurydice’s arm and pulling her out onto the dance floor. She caught his eyes as she was pulled away. He tried, with every fiber of his being, to show his thoughts through his eyes. _Not yet,_ he thought. _But with you? I think I could be. Absolutely._

 

_You made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter_

 

“Eurydice, you can head home, you don’t need to stay.”

“Orpheus, it’s fine!” she giggled, more than a little drunk. The Lady of the Upside Down had thrown what might have been one of the biggest parties summer had ever seen at the bar that night — to mark summer’s halfway point. The place had just been cleared out, and with Persephone sleeping in one of the booths at the back, it left Orpheus to clean up.

He walked over to her, grabbed her wrists, and guided her to sit on one of the bar stools. “You’re drunk, Eurydice,” he smiled at her, holding back a laugh. “Have some water, and let me finish cleaning.” She rolled her eyes dramatically at him, but went, sitting up on the bar stool. They had only met a week prior, but every night she found her way into the joint. She would nurse a single whiskey for the whole night, or she would split a beer and talk with Orpheus, only rarely going to dance with Persephone and whatever others found their way in. But she usually stuck near him. Tonight was different though.

Orpheus wasn’t stuck behind the bar all night, instead coming around to join the patrons he always served, pulling out his lyre. He played softly at first, and then at the Lady’s request, played something to boost the energy. By the time he finished playing and the patrons turned to the jukebox, his fingers were aching, and Eurydice had become sufficiently tipsy. It only took another drink or two to push her into the warm drunken state she currently occupied. He hadn’t seen her like this before

Orpheus finished wiping down tables and stacking chairs before heading to the other side of the bar, humming all the while. Eurydice was slouched over the bar, practically lying on it. Her chin was propped up on her hands, and she was looking up, her eyes never leaving him. Her eyes were different in this state — more open, brighter and younger. It scared him, how vulnerable she looked. Eurydice was a tough nut to crack, he’d give her that much. But she looked so malleable in this state, like her heart had taken over, and asked her to melt just a little.

“How you doin' over there?” Orpheus asked, smiling at her.

She smiled a little, as if she had a secret, and whispered, “I’m thinking.”

“Oh? And what are you thinking about?” He leaned in, matching her posture so he was face to face with her, his hands and chin on the bar.

“If I told you, you’d think I was stupid,” she said, her cheeks red, and her eyes wild. He chuckled.

“Ask me anything, Eurydice, and I promise to answer.”

"What is that song you’re workin’ on? Persephone won’t tell me what it’s about.”

He chuckled softly. “It’s because even she doesn’t know what it’s about.”

“Will you tell me? I’m a really good secret keeper.” He had never seen her like this — so open, both quiet and loud simultaneously. She let her voice take up space and warm the room around her. He could tell that this was what she kept guarded, what she kept locked inside her heart.

“Do you promise to keep it secret?” He whispered, his eyes filled with stars. Her eyes mirrored his, and she nodded slightly.

“When it’s done, it’s gonna bring the springtime back.”

She sighed softly. He tried to figure out what was going through her head, but her thoughts were her own. Unless she wanted you to know them, they stayed up in that big beautiful brain of hers. Moments later, she said:

“You didn’t dance with me tonight. You danced with a lot of people tonight, but not me.”

He didn’t know how to respond, stumbling over words that got caught in his throat. How could he go about telling her that he was scared? Scared to admit that if he got that close to her, if he knew the feeling of holding her in his arms, he’d never be able to let her go. 

“Will you dance with me?” She whispered, looking at him. He smiled at her and nodded despite himself, pushing away from the bar to walk over to her. She pushed off the bar, still a little unsure on her feet, but he grabbed her hand, and felt his stomach drop and his heart beat steady. 

He held her hand with his, and put a hand lightly on her waist, holding her at arms length. She squeezed his hand and pulled him in closer, resting her hand on his shoulder.

“We’ve got no music,” She said to him, and he went to move away to put a quarter in the jukebox, she held him tightly, kept him where he was. 

“Sing for me, Poet? That song you’re working on?” She said, using Persephone’s nickname for him, and what could he do? How could he refuse? So he held her with a little more surety, and began to hum lightly, swaying them softly. His hums turned to soft singing with no lyrics.

_La, la la la la la la._

She rested her head on his chest, her cheek placed over his heart and she swore she felt it stutter just a little. She moved her hand from his shoulder to wrap it around his waist, holding him close. One set of their hands stayed intertwined, but he wrapped the other arm around her shoulders, keeping the beat with his feet and keeping the melody with his voice.

After a moment, he let his chin rest on the top of her head, bracketing her just a little bit more. She felt warm, safe, comforted in his arms. The whiskey still pulsed through her blood, but she felt an intense wave of _yes_. She was being reckless, a part of her brain said, but her heart whispered something that felt a little more true.

“ _All I know’s you’re someone I have always known,_ ” she sang along to his tune creating her own words, giving a voice to their moment. She wanted to always be able to remember this — their steady waltz, his hand in hers, her arm wrapped around him, his heartbeat under her cheek. “ _And I don’t even know you._ ”

“ _God, I wanna hold you, hold you close,”_ he picked up right after her, matching her timing, letting his grip on her tighten slightly, and dropping his cheek to rest on her hair. 

“ _Suddenly the sunlight feels bright and warm.”_

_“Suddenly I’m holding the world in my arms.”_

She pulls back slightly at that, and he stops them from swaying. His face is betraying him, and he’s suddenly so scared that he’s already ruined it before it’s even begun. But she drops his hand, and reaches up to cup his face. He melts into her touch, closing his eyes, and letting his head fall forward a little. She’s looking at him with wide-eyed wonder — a look he’s never seen on her before, a look she’s not familiar with herself. 

_He’s a poet on a bartender’s pay check_ , that part of her brain whispers again. _He cannot provide for you. He cannot give you what you need_.

_His touch is soft, and his smile is warm,_ her heart says with a lurch. _He’ll cross oceans for you. He’s bright, and his bones sing songs of love._

He opens his eyes and leans in, ever so slightly, and she closes the gap between them, pressing their lips together. She tilts her head and kisses him deeply, a feeling of intimacy and safety creeping through her bones. It feels like her lips were meant to be against his, as if their dance had been written by the gods. With their lips, slowly moving against the other’s, Eurydice felt like she was an old soul reborn in a new body — this felt so right, being held by him, holding him. 

After what felt like both seconds and lifetimes, Orpheus pulled back and rested their foreheads together. He opened his eyes and was met with hers. He could get lost in those eyes. But he’s lost, and she’s still intoxicated, and she might regret this moment of intimacy in the morning, but she’s here and so is he and he _doesn’t want to let her go,_ so he steels himself for what he’s about to say, but says it anyway. “Come home with me.”

She looks at him and he can see a war raging behind her eyes. She tries to say no, her gut wants her to say no, but she can’t. He’s gentle, and he looks at her with eyes that she think might love her one day. He said that she deserved cosmic love. And she’s a survivalist at heart — she doesn’t think she can live without those eyes.

“Yes.”

He smiles at her, and pulls away quickly, grabbing her hands and squeezing them. His smile is brighter than the exposed bulbs that light the joint, brighter than a rain bonfire. And he disappears behind the bar for a few seconds, emerging with his guitar strapped on his back, and her coat in his hands. He holds it out for her, and she slides it on, taking his hand in hers once her sleeve is on. 

And so, they slowly find their way home, walking out of the bar, a woman in a green dress, having woken from her catnap in the booth, watching them, wishing she could give them more than a few more weeks of summer time, but knowing that they’d find some kind of warmth within each other’s arms.

 

_You learn my secrets and you figure out why I'm guarded_

_You say we'll never make my parents' mistakes_

 

He wakes up to an empty bed. 

Eurydice had come home with him. He remembers every moment of her in his home, her in his space, how she felt, curled up in his bed. He never noticed truly how ramshackle his place was until he saw it in contrast with her. It was a little cabin, just outside of town. His roof leaked, no matter how many times or ways he attempted to patch it. The foundation was shoddy, and the floors were always just a little too cold. There was a draft that he could never find the origin for. But it was some walls and a roof over his head, and with times being what they were, he couldn’t ask for much more. 

She waltzed into his home like she owned the place. And he might as well have given it to her. _Never leave,_ he wanted to say. _Please say that you feel this magnetism too._ She walked around the small space, the little couch and chair in the corner by the fireplace, his bed in the opposite corner. Her buzz had faded after their kiss and their walk to his home.

“You okay with sharing?” Orpheus asked, shutting the door behind him, and setting his guitar down. “I mean, feel free to take the bed, I’ll take the couch it’s really no bi—“

She cut him off with another soft kiss, brief this time. “I’m fine with sharing,” she said with a smile. “But no funny business,” she said poking his chest. He smiled at her and kissed her again softly, wrapping his arms around her waist. He pulled her to the bed and fell back on it, him landing softly on top of her. She laughed and rolled them so that she was on top of him, and they kissed. They kissed until exhaustion and comfort sank into their bones, and then Orpheus pulled the sheet up over them. They fell asleep, hearts and hands intertwined, both of them blessed with good dreams.

And when he woke up, he was alone in the bed.

He sat up, unable to stop his heart from sinking. She had left during the night, or in the early hours of the morning. Why had she gone? What had he done to send her running?

“Think any harder and steam might start comin’ out your ears.”

He looked up and over to the other side of the small cabin. Eurydice. She had stayed. Still dressed in her slip and tights from the night before, she was leaning against the couch, smiling at him from where she stood.

“You stayed,” he couldn’t help but say, his heartbeat fluttering, and his face widening into a smile.

She smiled, and turned to look at his shelves, trying to hide a blush. She looked intensely at the shelves lining his walls — filled with books, and trinkets and flowers. On some shelves, hidden behind empty picture frames and potted plants were glass jars of preserves, a few cans, a bag or two of flour. 

“You already stocking up?” She asked, quirking her lip at his small supply. It wasn’t near enough to get through winter.

“Yeah. Not much, but it's more than I’ve had in the past.” 

“Why’s it all hidden?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sometimes Persephone comes to visit. It upsets her that she has to leave us — that we spend so much of the summer worrying about getting through the winter. So I keep it hidden. Out of sight, out of mind, in a way. Anyway, there’s still time left.”

She turned to him, and damn that smile on his face. Summer was fading, and that meant that winter was creeping in, Hades unable to stop himself from reclaiming his wife, stealing summer and safety away from every living creature. Eurydice wanted to smack that smile off Orpheus’ face, wanted to make him feel the pull in her gut that said that there was no such thing as too much when it came to food and firewood, wanted to collapse in his arms, and let his reckless optimism be what carried her through the winter.

“I’ve had close calls in the past. Almost lost some fingers two winters ago because there wasn’t enough heat where I was staying,” Eurydice whispered, turning back to his shelves, wrapping her arms around herself. “My parents … they didn’t realise how much kids needed to eat. I was 8 when they left.” She heard Orpheus’ slight intake of breath, but she continued. “I’ve been on my own since then, wandering. Picking up work, collecting what I could. Sometime’s it’s enough. Sometime’s it’s not.”

Orpheus crossed the small space towards her, and wrapped his arms around her stomach, his hands resting overtop of hers. She leaned into his back for a moment, before turning back around. She looked into his eyes, so beautiful, so sad. He could see that she was holding something in, and he could tell that it was eating at her from the inside. And in a moment of something — weakness? Vulnerability? Intoxication? Trust? — she spoke her greatest fear, her greatest truth, to Orpheus:

“The people that should have been there for me have done nothing but take. I have nothing left to give.”

He brushed her hair back behind her ear, and shifted so that they were looking directly into each other’s eyes.

“I won’t leave you wanting, Eurydice. Times are hard now, yes, but it won’t always be that way.”

She scoffed and pulled away. “Why, because you’re going to bring the springtime back with that song of yours?” Her words were ice laced with poison. She knew that the words would sting him, but she didn’t realise how much. She was scared and didn't know any better.

“You don’t believe me.” 

She looked up at him, and fuck, if her heart wasn’t already irreparably broken, it was dust now. His eyes, like windows into his heart, were cracked. His mouth hung open slightly, a look of betrayal, sorrow, disappointment, and something akin to heartbreak on his face. _Shit_.

“Orpheus, I—” she tried to backtrack, but he shook his head slightly.

“You think it’s dumb,” he said, trying desperately to hold his heart together. “I _know_ we’re lucky if summer comes at all. I _know_ that our world is out of tune. _I know_ all of this, Eurydice, don't think I don't. But I’ll bring back the spring time. I… I have to try.” 

They stayed, looking at each other for a long moment. 

“Eurydice,” he said, breaking the silence. “I know you’re scared. I am, too.”

“Orpheus, I can’t starve. I can’t freeze — not again. I want to believe in your song,” she said, pleading with him to hear the base line of her heart, of what she was saying. She reached out and took his hands in hers. “My heart believes every word you say, and would follow you to the end of time. But I just… I _can’t._ I need to eat. I need to rest. I can’t ignore my gut”

More silence hung between them. This time, It was filled with less static, less crackling. He understood her, he did. She believed him, she did. But they needed to find their way onto the same page.

“I’ll do whatever I can to make you believe,” he said, squeezing her fingers, resting his head against hers.

“What’s gonna happen if we run out of food?”

“It won’t happen.”

“And what about firewood?” 

“We’ll start stockpiling it.”

“And how are we gonna stay warm?”

“We’ll wrap each other up and hibernate if we need to.”

She smiled, looking at their hands. “You have an answer for everything,” she said softly.

“When I look at you I do.”

“Orpheus… I’m not a casual person,” she said, pulling away. She needed space. She felt lightheaded whenever he held her, as if she lost all rationality. “If we’re going to do this, I need you to promise to provide. I need food, and shelter, and heat, and I can’t do that on my own. I need you to know that —“ she faltered. She clenched her teeth, shut her eyes, and fought through. “I’ve let in too many people who let me down.”

“I won’t let you down, my love,” he said. He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world — _my love_. Her heart fluttered, but her gut did not settle. She looked up and in his eyes, she saw nothing but love. Well, love, and a glint that looked like a promise.

 

_We’ve got bills to pay,_

_We’ve got nothing figured out._

 

Soon, their Lady left. Persephone had been collected early this year. And as she begrudgingly and drunkenly stepped onto the train, everyone felt a chill run through their bones. No one more than Eurydice. Despite the fact that she was fed, hunger pulled at her stomach. She felt like she couldn’t get warm, even when wrapped up in her poet’s arms. She felt an itch beneath her skin — to run, to hide, to take what she could and leave.

The first few weeks of winter were hard. The winds howled outside, the snow piled up, and the sun was hidden by dark clouds. The foundation of their little cabin all but froze, making the floor like ice, and the windows were doing their best to keep out the chill, but it still found ways to creep in, no matter how many times that tried to fix it.

They were going to make it, she thought. They had to make it. “Only a few more months,” Orpheus would whisper into her hair as they went to sleep at night, his front wrapped around her back. “We’re gonna make it.” Her poet, ever the optimist. He felt safer than he ever had during these winters. He had Eurydice. 

But the deeper they entered into winter, the most lost he became. He played and sang and sat and worked on his song. He needed to be out in the real world, sometimes, wrapping himself in whatever they had, and taking his lyre. He would wander for hours, simply playing, trying to find the right chord to strike, the right words to say. Sometimes he slipped out of their bed in the morning, his fingers itching to play. On more than one occasion, Eurydice would wake up to snow in their living room, the air frigid — in his haste to play, Orpheus had left the door open. If he could only bring back spring, he thought, then Eurydice wouldn't have to face winters that were so long. If he could bring back the spring, it would bring back summer, and she would be alright again. He needed to look forward.

At the midpoint of winter, Eurydice got word of a winter festival, for the solstice, a few towns over. “There’s whispers that they’re paying for performers,” she said, knowing it would make him uncomfortable. Orpheus would bartend, would cook or clean, for coin, but not for his music. He told her once that he felt dirty asking for money for his songs. 

“Eurydice, I don’t… I don’t know,” he said, softly, sitting by the small fire. He wanted so badly to wrap her in his arms, to just hibernate until Persephone came back up top. But Eurydice wasn’t in the mood. The deeper they got into the winter, the more feral she became. He knew her, knew that it came from a place of fear, but it didn’t stop the hurt. She had stopped listening to his song, couldn’t focus when he played. She was too focused on their food stock, slowly depleting. Too focused on the quickly decreasing stack of firewood.

In the end, he went to the festival. She wanted to come along — more chances to stock up on food and firewood. But she couldn’t risk it. “Scavengers come out in the winter time. I would know, I was one of them. I should stay and watch over this place…” she trailed off, watching him pack. She was cold. She was getting hungry. And she could only pray that her stubborn poet could see this. She had no energy to keep her walls up anymore, and the looks that she gave him were raw — the sheer ferocity of emotion behind her eyes screamed at him. _Don’t let me starve,_ she thought. _Take what they give you and ask for more_ , she wanted to tell him. But she couldn’t. She trusted him before, and that stupid little voice in her heart told her to trust him again.

He slid his coat on, and put his guitar over his shoulder. She grabbed his scarf off the back of the chair and walked over to him, wrapping it around his neck. He leaned into her touch, and he was wrapped up, she leaned her head against his collarbone, holding him steady. 

“There’s a storm coming on,” she said to him. He nodded.

“I can feel it, too. She suffering down there.”

“Be safe, and please, _please_ come home. Bring as much as you can with you.” Eurydice pulled back slightly to look him in his eyes. Her eyes were wild, and they held in them an unspoken ultimatum — she had trusted him, and if he couldn’t provide, she would find another way. He kissed her forehead, and smiled at her. So bright, so naive. 

“I’ll be home soon, don’t you worry.”

***

He was gone longer than she expected. He had told her a couple days — four at the most, pending the storm. But it had been over a week. She was sick of waiting around, slowing starving and going mad. She felt too big for her skin, like she was going out of her mind. She spent hours, days, berating herself for acting the way she did — for trusting her stupid heart, instead of her brain, instead of her gut. She went out walking, hoping to clear her head, to find something — clarity? firewood? She didn’t know. This wasn't about Orpheus, no, this was about her careless heart that would get her killed.

But out in the snow, wrapped in the same coat she was wearing the day she met her poet, all she found was a deep voice, singing a song she had never heard before.

 

_Hey, little songbird…_

 

_Everything was slipping right out of our hands_

 

Persephone thought that it must have been some sick trick of Hadestown. She must be going crazy, certifiably insane if she thought that she was truly hearing what she was. But no, he was there. Orpheus, her poet from up top. She heard his soft singing, the _la la la’_ s clear as the daylight she hadn’t seen in months. She couldn’t see him, but she could see the walls tremble slightly, doing something akin to weeping, at the song he sang. She walked the walls sometimes, tracing the perimeter just because she could. She wanted to see this damn wall up close, see what Hades was always on about. She never expected to find this.

His voice sounded different. It was still that light, lilting falsetto she knew well, but there was something else. His voice was raw, tired. It felt like he was singing for his life, and he might as well have been. Persephone knew that his lover, the one that Hades’ had dubbed the Songbird, had been stolen away months ago, tricked and manipulated into signing one of Hades’ damn contracts. She knew Hades had done it for her — to her at the expense of the Songbird — and she knew that the poet had to be in pain.

She hadn’t expected to be confronted with this kind of raw agony.

It tugged something deep within her, something she didn’t know she had access to anymore. She thought that she was too old, too bitter, to feel a certain way, but the power of love and the power of song are frightening in the ways that they can creep in. She felt in an instant that she was back in her mother’s garden, the first time she kissed Death incarnate. She remembered the way she melted into him, the way his hands, those hard, electric hands, held her so delicately. She remembered how he cradled her hips within his, the way her fingertips felt tracing the lines of his face. She remembered how willing she was to do anything, just to spend another day, another hour, another minute, looking into those eyes. 

She placed her hand on the wall, and asked the walls to open up. _I am your queen_ , she thought. _Open for me._ And the bricks, as the continued to weep, fell in and pulled back, leaving a gapping hole. She lost her breath in that moment and only remembered to breath when she saw the poet step through.

He looked weary, his clothes dampened with sweat, his hair falling limp. His eyes carried dark bags, and his fingers were red and raw and angry. There were specks of blood on his shirt, and his shoes were caked with mud and ash. But his eyes were clear. He was not here to visit — this was a rescue mission.

“Persephone?” he asked, voice small but strong. He couldn’t believe that he was here either. The goddess smiled at him, trying to hide all other emotions that ran through her head. “In the flesh,” she replied, making him grin a little.

It didn’t last long on his face though. He sobered quickly. “Is she here? Have you seen her?” Persephone bit her lip and nodded. The look of relief on his face could light all of Hadestown for a year, it was so bright.

“My damn husband. This is his doing. Meant to be a dig at me, and I’m sorry that you two’ve been roped into this domestic shitstorm.”

“Where is she?” He asked, trying to balance relief with seriousness. She was here, thank _gods_ , she was here and he was almost to her. _Eurydice,_ he tried to tell her with his mind, with his heart. _Just wait for me a few more minutes. I’m coming_.

Persephone looked around to make sure they were alone. “She was in the mines yesterday, last I saw. She’ll be on the Wall today. Follow the wall, keep your head down, and you’ll find her. I’ll find my husband — try to talk some sense into him. He probably already knows that you’re here. But Orpheus,” she caught his eye and his attention. She rarely used his full name unless it was important. “Hadestown touches everyone here. Shifts them, changes them. She won’t be the same person.”

He nodded at her, and grabbed her hand, squeezing it once. “Thank you, Persephone. _Thank you_.”

She watched him walk past her, his steps sure, and his head low. But his back was straight, and he walked with the surety of someone who had nothing to lose. Or who had already lost everything.

*** 

The walls had ears, yes, but lips too. And sometimes, if Eurydice listened close enough, she could pick up on the Underworld gossip. Who’s working where, if and when new faces arrive. 

She never expected to hear that voice echo through the brick and mortar.

_La la la la la la._

Hades must have been playing tricks on her. That’s the only thing she could possibly imagine. her heart had shut down the moment she entered Hadestown. The moment she boarded the train. Her gut and her head took over, her heart becoming unresponsive because to be alive and in pain was just too hard. To be alive and not be with him was too much to handle.

And now this. Now Hades torturing her even more, sending not her poet, but his song. The song he sang to her the first time they danced together. The song he whispered into her hair at night, desperately hoping that her words would warm her soul and distract her from the storm raging outside their door. 

_La la la la la la._

She leaned her head against the wall. She was working alone, so no one could shout at her for wasting time. She pressed her head against the wall and prayed for the noises to stop. Prayed for the song to go away. And it did. But a louder voice took it’s place.

“Come home with me.”

She whipped her head to the side and there he was. Her poet was here, covered in dust and sweat, his lyre strong across his back. He looked like he had seen better days, but so had she, and in the underworld all that mattered was that he was here, and she was looking at his face. 

She dropped her tools and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck, and he embraced her, soft and warm. He placed a hand on the back of her head, and held her to him. She pressed her cheek into his, and breathed him in. “Orpheus,” she whispered to him. “I thought I’d never see you again.” He held her tighter, and she could feel a tear rolling down his cheek. “I’m here, my love. I’m here.” And then fear settled in her stomach. She pulled away, her hands on his shoulders.

“What are you doing down here?” She asked. “Orpheus, you can’t be here. You can’t be…” she trailed off, unable to speak the words into existence. He shook his head and kissed her brow, trying to impart some kind of comfort.

“I’m not dead, my love.”

She sighed in relief and relaxed slightly against him, but she was still on edge. She needed to get him out, and quickly. She had chosen this. He hadn’t.

“How’d you get here then? I didn’t hear the train…”

“I walked here. Round the back — I walked and I sang, and the walls let me in. They led me here. I came to bring you home.” He looked at her, his eyes wide, his heart so full. She was in what he assumed to be the standard uniform in the Underground. Her hair hung limp, her lips chapped and cracked. The Underworld had sank its teeth into her, taken some of her light, of her life, that he wasn’t sure she would ever get back. Persephone’s words rang true in his mind. She wasn’t the same person. But she was still Eurydice, and he had to bring her home.

“You walked here?” Her face cracked, her voice too, as she asked him. Her shell was faltering. “Why? Orpheus, why would you do that?”

He placed his hands on either side of her face and leaned his forehead against hers. “For you, my love,” he said softly, wiping away the mixture of ash and tears that streamed down her cheek. He had a steel to his voice that she didn't recognize, but that fit him so beautifully. “Always for you. I can’t live without you, Eurydice. I don’t want to.” He was fighting back tears now, but swallowed them, tried to cover them with a laugh. 

“I didn’t think I’d ever get this far. I thought I’d walk and sing forever, and never see you again. But you’re here, and you’re _alive —“_

He couldn’t finish his thought before she had her lips pressed against his in a searing kiss. She needed to feel him against her, and he needed to hold her and never let go. She opened her mouth against him, breathing in every bit of oxygen that he exhaled. He was breathing life into her, and she was taking everything he could spare, filling her lungs with gentle reminders of the living world. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, threading her fingers through his hair. His hand cradling the back of her neck kept her close, and his other arm wrapped around her waist, pressing their bodies together. 

Their lips moved in tandem, a perfect give and take. A well negotiated conversation, laced with the sweetest of passions — this kiss was everything they had failed to be up top. It was fuelled with Orpheus’ regret and Eurydice’s doubt. It was an apology for the toxicity of his reckless optimism, and her apology for her lack of trust. In her arms, against her lips, he felt powerful. In his grasp, with her poet’s heart beating against hers, she felt _alive_. 

And she wanted to go home.

Gods, all she wanted in that moment was their crummy little shack of a home. She wanted the cold floor, and the drafty windows, and the soft mattress with the warm blankets. It wasn’t until she had him this way that she truly realised what she had walked away from. And she couldn’t lie to herself anymore — she was not stolen away, or tricked. She was not kidnapped or coerced. She went willingly. She saw what Hades had to offer and chose it over _this_. This perfect, synchronised routine that the two of them had. She sold it down the river Styx, and she couldn’t imagine how to call it back — not even his voice could summon it home to them. 

She kissed him back, their tears mingling on their noses, their lips. They were both crying now, him from relief, her from fear. But he was scared, and she was relieved, and they were a perfect balance for one another and it only made them cry harder. And they held each other close, not allowing their lips to truly separate for fear that they would never be able to get back to one another.

And looking on was a woman, hopeful about what their love could build.

And a man, terrified of what their love could break apart.

 

_Braced myself for the goodbye,_

_'Cause that's all I've ever known_

_Then, you took me by surprise_

_You said, "I'll never leave you alone”_

 

Doubt didn’t so much as creep in as slam into his back, almost taking him off his feet. It was doubt, laced with humiliation and the rawest fear he could imagine. What if Hades had played him? What if she wasn’t behind him? What if he had walked and singed and fought, and while he stood here, the entrance in sight, they were living it up down below. Hades laughing his dark, deadly laugh, and Eurydice trapped in the mines. 

He couldn’t do it.

He stood still and listened. “Eurydice,” he whispered to the wind. He stood, eyes shut, listening to the wind.

And at his back, invisible to him, she was there, tears running down her face. “Yes, my love, I’m here,” she shouted. “Please keep going, _gods_ , please don’t give up.” She knew that he wouldn’t be able to hear her, but she shouted all the same. She had gotten them into this mess. It was unfair of Hades to place such a weight on the shoulders of such a young man, but it was their only hope. 

While Eurydice cried and shouted, he heard nothing — not even wind. The realisation that Hades might have played him crashed over him in waves and nearly knocked him to his knees. The sick taste in his mouth that it didn’t matter if he turned around or not, she would not be there. His Eurydice would be condemned to the ugliest depths of Underworld and he couldn’t do anything to save her. Hades never even gave them a chance. He felt deception run through his veins, passing through his heart and shattering it into a million pieces.

Eurydice had her hands on his shoulders, but he couldn’t feel her. She needed to reach the light to be free of the spell of the Underworld, and they were so close, _so close_ she could feel it in her heart, in her head, like she was overdosing on oxygen. “Please,” she called on deaf ears, “Please, Orpheus, keep going.” And he started walking.

He began to walk, and then broke into a sprint, needing to be as far away from Hadestown as he could get. He felt sickened by the fact that he had truly thought that Hades had given then a chance. _Where is your youth?_ Orpheus had asked him, and it seemed now that the answer was clear — it was long gone. Eurydice ran behind him, keeping as close as she could get to him but he was fast, and she was so tired. _One more step,_ she wished, she dreamt. _We’re so close_.

When he broke into the daylight, he could no longer hold himself up. The ground was still covered in snow, but the sky was clear and bright. He ripped his lyre off his back and fell to his knees. He took in a deep breath before pressing his hands to the cold ground. He began to scream. His rage seeped out through his throat. The sound could have cracked glass, shattered spirits. His rage quickly turned to emptiness. He would never see her again, he knew that now. He would never hold her again, never be able to cradle her cheek, or kiss her hair, or play his music and watch her dance. Those were gone. 

So he cried. His sobs racked his chest and he couldn’t take deep enough breaths. He felt like he was dying. Maybe he was.

Eurydice heard his screams, heard his tears, as she emerged into the world of the living. The vitality that hit her took her breath for a moment. She felt life begin to pump through her heart, reviving old heartaches, new wants, old dreams, and new beliefs. She believed in life again, believed that she was alive. And she looked ahead and saw her poet, and her brand new heart quaked.

“Eurydice, I’m so sorry,” he said through the tears, hands pressed flat to the ground, eyes boring into it, as if were he to look hard enough he’d see right into Hadestown, and catch one last glimpse of her. 

“Orpheus,” she whispered, allowing her tired feet to bring herself to him. He didn’t hear her. They were safe, she didn’t understand. Why was he crying? What had gone on in that brain of his? What had doubt done to warp his mind?

He couldn’t tell that there was someone behind him — his body shook with the sobs that came pouring from his chest. He felt untethered. That was until arms, thin arms with callused hands attached, wrapped around his shoulders and held him. He stopped breathing, for a moment, thinking of ways he could curse Hades for sending him this vision, this quasi-angel, instead of the real thing.

“Orpheus?”

That voice. _That voice_ , he thought. It ghosted over his skin, and he gasped. The way his name fell from lips that he thought were lost to the world of the living told him that Hades hadn’t tricked him at all. That the man had kept his promise, had been true to his word.

He fell where he knelt, turning in his fall to face Eurydice, and he broke into tears again, a confused smile on his face this time. “Eurydice,” he said her name as if it were a prayer, and her tears began to flow again. “My Eurydice, you followed me.” She smiled at him and threw herself into his arms, knocking them backwards. He held her close, arms wrapped her shoulders, her back. She sank into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him to her.

“Orpheus, you did it, my love,” she said again, pulling them up to a sitting position, holding his face in her hands, pressing their foreheads together. Tears still fell from her eyes and she looked into his, unwilling to look away.

“You’re… you’re alive. You’re here,” Orpheus couldn’t decide whether to be confused, or to just take this win as it came. She was here, safe and alive and warm and _his_ , and he didn’t know what to do except hold her tight, and never let her go. His hands moved between cupping her cheeks, and holding her waist, and running his hands over her bare arms. He couldn’t keep to himself, and he touched her everywhere. He had to remind himself that she was really here.

She nodded at him, and the tears kept flowing. “Orpheus, I’m so sorry. My love, please forgive me I never meant for this to happen,” she broke off into more tears, moving to press her face into his neck, tucking herself into him. His heart broke even more as he pulled her closer to him. He held the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair, caked with ash and dust. He kissed the top of her head despite the dirt and shushed her softly through his own tears.

“Eurydice, it’s okay. You’re here, you’re safe.” Just saying those words aloud brought out a new wave of tears, and small laugh. “You’re safe, my love. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, and I won’t let you go.” 

There they sat, two figures, covered in dirt in a field of white snow. They didn’t let each other go, and as the wind whipped the snow around them they shivered into one another. Orpheus’ thin sweater wasn’t much, but it was better than what she had. Her Hadestown uniform was nothing but a long cotton stip wrapped around her chest, and a pair of coveralls. She was fully exposed to the elements, and Orpheus wrapped his arms around her to protect her as much as she could.

Eurydice finally pressed a kiss to his shoulder, squeezing him gently. “Orpheus,” she whispered to him. “We’ll catch our deaths out here if we stay here any longer.”

He let out a long sigh and nodded, shifting slightly to move Eurydice, who was sat in his lap, onto the snowy ground. He stood and offered her his hand. She took it and hoisted herself up. It took her a moment to find her balance and settle herself on her feet. She shivered into him, the only thing keeping her from the cold winds was her Hadestown uniform, leaving much of her chest and arms to the elements. After retrieving the lyre that he had thrown down, Orpheus wrapped an arm around her, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, huddling in close to him, and they walked home. Together this time.

 

_Every time I look at you, it’s like the first time_

 

They arrived at their small cottage, the one with the draft and the leaky roof. The one with cold floors and windows that couldn’t keep any heat in. They arrived to find that they had been fixed — the wind no longer found its way in, and the floors were warm. The hole in the roof had been patched and there were no gaps around the windows. They didn’t question it — they had been dealt enough cards to know to accept a favour when they appeared. Orpheus knew it was Hermes, the God of safe travels and safer returns. Once inside, Orpheus shut the door behind them and ran to push their bed closer to the fireplace. He shoved the threadbare couch against the blank wall, pulling the mattress right in front of the fireplace, and then moved to start a fire. His shivering hands could barely light the match, but after a few strikes, the flame arrived and the fire was started. Only minutes later, he could feel heat beginning to radiate from the hearth. 

“Eurydice, the fire’s on. Come closer and get wa—,” his sentence was cut short when he looked back up at her. She stood there, shaking from the cold. She had stripped her coveralls off, ripped the socks from her feet, and was standing with nothing on save for paper thin underwear and a band across her breasts. He lost words when he looked at her. She was thinner than before, flesh clinging to bone. He could count her ribs, could drink wine from the divots in her collarbone. But _gods_ she was still so beautiful. 

She looked at him and saw his face: mouth agape, eyes wide. _He must think I’m hideous_ , she thought. _I’m withering away_. She couldn’t look at him, wrapped her arms around her torso, trying to control the shakes and shivers that wracked her body. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. What for, she didn’t know. But she knew that Orpheus didn’t sign up for this: for a woman who would bail at the first sight of fear, who would so willingly sell her soul. Who signed away her body and who came back looking like… like _this_.

She could hear him moving, standing up, and she couldn’t look. He stood from where he knelt by the fire, and grabbed one of the blankets from their bed. He walked over to her, eyes still wide, and draped the blanket over her shoulders. He crowded her, placed one hand on her waist, the other at her chin. He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, and he could feel her shoulders drop slightly, as she relaxed into him. He coaxed her chin higher, silently asking for her to look at him, and she did.

“You’re just as beautiful as the day I met you,” he said, nothing but honesty in his voice. “You’re so beautiful, my love. My Eurydice.”

And for the first time since he found her at the wall, she leaned in to press her lips against his. Their kiss was full of honey and spices — it was both like every other they had shared, and brand new at the same time. He pushed her hair behind her ear, and anchored his hand there, kissing back with everything he had. She smiled against his lips and opened them, an invitation to her poet, should he choose to accept it. He did.

She grabbed the ends of the blanket and wrapped them around his shoulders, cocooning both of them. Orpheus wrapped a hand around her thigh and soon she had her legs wrapped around his waist, his arm around her lower back, keeping her secured there. He pressed her closer to him, afraid that if there was any space she would be taken from him again. She moaned softly into his mouth and deepened the kiss further, pressing her tongue against his, their mouths slowly dancing in time with one another. He drank in her soft moans, sending his own back in response.

Without truly meaning to, Orpheus had walked them backwards until he could feel their mattress at his feet. Without breaking their kiss — sweet as summer and hot as Hadestown — he turned and knelt down, placing Eurydice on her back. He leaned down overtop of her, deepening the kiss and pining her to the mattress beneath them. She ran her fingers through his hair before tugging on it a bit, eliciting a moan from deep in his chest. She smirked against his lips and tugged just the slightest bit harder, before reaching down to pull at his shirt. He raised his arms over his head, breaking their kiss so she could pull his shirt off. 

“Eurydice,” he whispered her name like a prayer before leaning back down, pressing his hips into hers, and pressing hot kisses down her jawline, down her throat. She could feel his length press against the juncture of her pelvis. She rolled her hips forward, desperate for something _more_.

“Orpheus,” she moaned his name, arching into him. He reached underneath her pressed his hands against her shoulder blades. He moved to lay their foreheads together, stealing another kiss.

“I don’t ever want to let you go,” he whispered to her, slowly manoeuvring them upright, her straddling his lap. She could feel him, hard and hot beneath her. “When I touch you,” he continued, slowly unwrapping the fabric from around her chest, “I feel like i’ve got the whole world at my fingertips.” He punctuated each word with soft kisses to her protruding collarbone

She felt drunk. She felt high. She ran her fingers through his soft hair, his face cast in shadows and firelight. The room was warm now, the fire steadily crackling on. But it could have been an all consuming bonfire, it still would not have rivalled the heat in the pit of her stomach. The raw _wanting_ she had for him. When he finished unwrapping her, he ran his hands over her naked breasts, the callous on his fingers catching on her nipples and eliciting a sinful moan. She reached down to unhook his pants, and knelt up to pull them off. She wasn’t graceful about it, but she needed him more than she cared about appearances. She stripped him bare, and stepped out of her underwear before sitting atop him again.

She moved like a woman on a mission, his wife did. Sat in his lap, she re-fused their mouths together, pressing her bare chest against his, and pressing her core against him.

“Eurydice…” he moaned against her lips, both in confirmation and in question. She could feel hesitation coming from him — not over her, gods no. He loved her, wanted her more than anything. But is this what she wanted? How she wanted it?

“Orpheus,” she all but whined, delighting in the feeling of his name on her tongue, and not slowing the motion of her hips for even a second. “Lover, take me slowly — take me softly — tomorrow. I need you now, Orpheus. _Please_.”

That was more than he needed. It was as if his body was possessed — he needed to give Eurydice her pleasure, to take his. It felt like everything was both in slow motion, and moving at the speed of light from there. Her hot needy mouth against his. His wandering hands teasing her nipples into stiff nubs. She tugged on his hair. He gripped her hips until she thought bruises might form. She reached down to grab his cock and line him up with her. He moaned into her mouth at the feeling of her hand on him in such a way. He wrapped his hand around hers, and he teased his cock through her folds, before finally, _finally_ , pressing into her.

Eurydice saw stars. She threw her head back, a moan erupting from her throat. He pressed hot and messy kisses along her neck, as she rocked her hips, taking him slowly. She felt full, as if he was splitting her apart, and she couldn’t do anything except for tighten her grip as she bottomed out on Orpheus. He felt warmth like he had never known, his mind filled with white light and heat and _my gods she’s perfect, so wet, so right around me_.

Her hips moved on their own volition once she had taken all of him, grinding into him, as he moved in time with her, pushing impossibly deeper, until he hit a raw bundle of nerves that had her clenching around him. “Fuck, Orpheus. Again, _please_ , again.” God she was so wet, he thought. She felt so _full._ He knew that they wouldn’t last long, so wrapped up in their own pleasure, so he made the most of it. “Eurydice,” he started, but his voice broke off in a moan as he felt her contract around him. He didn’t have words, but he loved speaking her name into existence, loved moaning it for only her ears. Loved hearing his own name on her tongue, drenched in lust. He caught her lips in a searing kiss, sucking on her bottom lip, swallowing each moan she made.

“Orpheus, _please,”_ she begged and he felt even farther gone. He wasn’t sure what she was begging for, but damned if he wouldn’t give her everything. She pulled back so she could look deep into his eyes, semi-feral, and he had never wanted anything as much as he wanted to feel her come around him. He craved her release more than his own, desperate to give her everything she desired. He reached a hand between then and began circling her clit. He felt her lose her rhythm at that, and he continued.

“Come for me,” he moaned into her mouth, thrusting his hips at just the right angle. “Come for me, lover.”

And she did — she clenched around him, chasing the searing pleasure that shot through her veins. She held Orpheus’ shoulders tight, pressing her nails into his skin, as he came inside of her, claiming her with every ounce of energy he had. Her sight went white and red, stars flickered across her vision. She had never felt more alive — more alive, and more loved, than she did in this moment, enveloped in pure ecstasy.

Orpheus couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Eurydice looked simply enchanting, taking her own pleasure. She looked appetising, on display for him, her sounds only for his ears, her naked body only for his consumption. And as he spilled inside of her, rendered wordless at the sheer power of their mutual orgasm, he never wanted to let her go. Wanted her for himself, and him alone.

They rode out their orgasm together, the aftershocks that ran through her giving her the gift of pleasure tenfold, and she slumped against his chest, drained, a few minutes after. He could barely keep himself upright. Orpheus slid out of her, a small whine escaping her lips at the sudden emptiness, which he smiled at, before laying them both horizontally. He tucked her in the crook of his arm, her head resting on his chest, before grabbing their blanket and covering the two of them, sweat cooling their skins.

“Hey,” she whispered, eyes fighting to remain open. He smiled at her, stroking a hand up and down her back.

“Hi,” he whispered back, afraid to break the air of silence around them.

She looked into his eyes, kept the contact unbroken for what seemed like a lifetime. She looked like she wanted to say something, to say everything. Say _thank you_ , say _I’m sorry_ , say _I love you_ but she couldn’t find the words. That was okay, though. Neither could he.

She reached a hand up to rest on his face, running her thumb over his cheekbone, under his eye, along his brow. She couldn’t look away, her eyes trying to tell him how grateful she was for him. 

He kissed the heel of her hand gently, leaning into her touch. “I missed you,” he whispered.

She smiled softly at that and nodded gently. “I missed you too,” she said, so quietly he could barely hear her. 

"Orpheus," she started, but couldn't finish. He could see tears welling up in her eyes again and he reached over to brush them away.

“No time for that now,” he said, wiping her tears away, leaning up to kiss both of her eyes. “You’re home — that’s all that matters. We can deal with everything later. We have all the time in the world.”

Her heart fluttered at that notion. “Yeah,” she said, resting her head on his chest, pressing a kiss to where his heart sat. “We do.”

***

She fell into a deep sleep that night, exhausted from the work in Hadestown, from the walk, from the sex, and from the emotional exhaustion of it all. She slept soundly, curled around his chest, one leg hitched over Orpheus’. He could barely sleep, tired as he may have been. He couldn’t wrap his head around all that had happened, that only days ago he thought he had lost one of the only things that truly mattered to him, and now here she was, asleep and alive in his arms. 

He held her a little tighter, and she relaxed into him more. He could feel her ribs against his, her elbows sticking out. As he ran his hand up and down her back, he could feel each vertebrae pressing against the soft skin of her spine. He knew that as soon as she woke up, he would make her hot tea, to warm her from the inside out. And then he would sit and feed her bread and jam, the entire loaf if she wanted. And only once she was filled, would he fill her in another way. He would he kiss her deeply, lay her out on her back, and whisper vows into her skin, speak sonnets into her mouth, sing songs into the crook of her hip. He would give her her pleasure, softly. Slowly. He would play for her, strumming his lyre with no real end in sight.

They wouldn’t leave their bed until Spring herself came knocking at their door, and maybe not even then. They had all the time in the world.

 

_You are the best thing that’s ever been mine._

**Author's Note:**

> Reeve Carney was s n u b b e d.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left such lovely comments on my last fic, and to those who left me some love in my tumblr inbox! It means a lot to me.  
> I had no idea that this fic was going to be a 10K word BEAST but here we are, and I hope you enjoyed it!  
> I have more coming in the new few weeks, but *please* submit me prompts on tumblr! I need more to write about these stupid idiots that I love so much.
> 
> Thank you again for so much love!! 
> 
> Tumblr: @IveGotAHeadlineForYou


End file.
